Your Cool Uncle Fred
by MBP
Summary: We have now moved years into the future, and it's up to his siblings to keep Fred's memory alive. After all, doesn't the next generation of Weasleys deserve to know about their cool Uncle Fred? I think so.
1. Bill

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

A/N: I told you there'd be another story! This isn't exactly a chronological one. I suppose it can be looked at as a loosely connected series of one-shots. But I knew I needed to follow my favorite family even further into the future to see if they lived up to the promise I left for them in Still Left Behind. So far so good…

**Bill'****s memory ****… ****aka****… ****Victoire Goes to Hogwarts**

There was a loud thump and muffling cursing from the back of the cottage, and the 11-year-old girl flinched and looked up from her seat on the couch, her forehead creasing in worry. Fleur smiled wearily at her daughter.

"Do not worry, dear," she said quietly. "Your things will be fine. Your father knows ze magic. 'E just doesn't want to use it. I think 'e thinks zat if it takes 'im longer to 'elp you, you might miss ze train. I don't think 'e ees ready for you to leave."

Now Victoire smiled. "Daddy's going to miss me, isn't he?" Her voice held a hint of smugness, and Fleur gritted her teeth, trying to control her temper.

"And you will miss 'im," she said pointedly, looking directly at her daughter. Victoire nodded casually, and Fleur had to bite back another retort. She'd been told too many times how much Victoire reminded everyone of what she'd been like at her age, but she couldn't quite believe she'd ever been so self-involved.

Moments later, Bill emerged from the direction of his daughter's bedroom. His red hair was frazzled, and he looked as though he wished this whole ordeal were over. It was far from over, though. They still had to get to King's Cross and Platform 9 and ¾. His eyes locked with Fleur's, and he knew she was dreading the moment of departure just as much as he was.

"Are we ready?" he asked, trying to inject a note of cheer into his voice, and his daughter bounded to her feet.

"I am!" she exclaimed, and she rushed out the door. Fleur shook her head and looked at Bill.

"I will get Frédéric if you will meet 'er at ze auto," she said, and he nodded, making his way out the door. He shook his head in amusement as he caught sight of his daughter already sitting in the backseat. She was clearly ready to go –whether they were or not.

He took his seat behind the wheel and then examined his daughter in the rearview mirror. He often did this when he was driving. It was the only chance he had to look at his kids and not have them think he was a nutter. This time, though, Victoire caught his eye and pulled a face.

"Where's Mama? We'll never make it!" she cried in frustration.

Bill twisted in his seat to look at her. "Calm down," he said quietly. "She went to get your brother. We'll make it in plenty of time. There are hours until the train leaves."

Victoire pursed her lips and pouted. "But I want to go _now_," she whined. "I've been waiting for this for ever so long."

Bill's lips twitched. He always found it amusing how his daughter alternated so effortlessly between the English and French phrasings.

"You've waited eleven years," he told her, trying to control his amusement, knowing it would only frustrate her further. "I'm sure you can make it another couple of hours."

Victoire shook her head. "I'm sure I _can't_," she informed him. "Aunt Hermione was telling me about Hogwarts, Dad. I want to see the sorting hat and the great hall. And I want to see the boats that will take us to the castle, and maybe I'll even get to see the thestrals. I will get to see them, won't I?"

Bill's eyes clouded over as he looked at his child. "I hope you never get to see them," he said, and the serious tone in his voice punctured her swelling balloon of indignation.

"Why not?" she asked, and now she was staring at him intently, and he swallowed hard and had to glance away.

"It means," he started and found that he had to clear his throat. "It means that you've seen someone die, sweetheart. That's something I never want you to see."

Victoire's mouth fell open slightly. "Can _you_ see them?" she asked, and he nodded. There was a silence. "Who –" she started and then stopped. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"It was in the Battle of Hogwarts," her father answered anyway, his voice even softer. "It was no one I knew, but it was enough to make me see them."

The silence that fell now became even more strained, and Bill knew he'd need to lighten the conversation. This was supposed to be his daughter's happiest day.

"Did I ever tell you about the year that my younger brothers started at Hogwarts?"

Victoire looked up, relieved for the subject change. "Which ones?" she asked, and Bill laughed.

"Fair question. The twins. Did I ever tell you about what happened on their first day at the castle?"

"No!" Victoire said eagerly. "But if it was Uncle George, it had to be something good."

Bill smiled at her gently. "Uncle George _and_ Uncle Fred, sweetheart. You do remember that I told you that they were always together, don't you?"

Victoire nodded and stared down at her lap. She'd only said George because she didn't want to make her father sad. He always seemed to be a little sadder when he talked about the … the twins, as he called them. And she did love these stories, more than any others, pretty much, but she _hated_ when her father was sad. He was – well, he was her father. He wasn't supposed to have feelings.

But if he were willing to tell this story, then she had no objections to hearing it.

"Well," he began, "one thing you should know about the twins is that they never ever wanted anyone to think they were scared, so they were laughing and joking the whole way to Hogwarts on the train."

Victoire nodded. She understood that. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but she might have even been a little bit like her uncles.

"So we got there, and then we had the sorting ceremony. Of course, they were sorted into Gryffindor."

Victoire nodded again. "Of course," she echoed. Everyone knew that Weasleys were always in Gryffindor. There was no braver family than the Weasleys.

"So after the sorting, we went to the dormitory, and everyone already knew that they would be the newest troublemakers in Hogwarts. They'd already lost us points for throwing food and tormenting Mrs. Norris."

"Mrs. Norris?" Victoire asked, confused. "Aunt Hermione didn't mention any professors named Mrs. Norris."

Bill snorted. "Mrs. Norris isn't… well, you'll see. Can't give everything away before you get there."

Victoire scowled, but she knew from the look on her father's face that there was no point in arguing. "Well, is that the whole story?" she asked waspishly, and her father shook his head.

"No, as a matter of fact, it isn't. Now I'm going to tell you something that I bet your Uncle George will wish I hadn't, but now that you are going to Hogwarts, you are allowed to know the truth: the twins weren't nearly as brave as they wanted everyone to think they were. You know how Uncle George can make a joke out of everything?"

Victoire nodded, giggling. "Remember the time he gave Frédéric the hat that made his head disappear? I thought Mama was going to kill him."

Bill smiled too. "Well, if you think he's funny now, imagine what it was like when there were two of him. Because believe me when I tell you, sweetheart, that Uncle Fred was every bit as funny as Uncle George – maybe even funnier. He usually lead them into trouble. Uncle George mostly followed along."

Victoire's eyes widened. She couldn't imagine it, but she knew it had to be true.

"Well," her father continued, "the night they got to Hogwarts was one of the times that reminded me that Uncle George and Uncle Fred weren't as big and brave as they always wanted everyone to think."

He paused, remembering, and Victoire waited impatiently until she couldn't wait anymore.

"What happened?" she demanded, and Bill smiled sadly.

"Lee Jordan found me. You remember Lee, right? He's Uncle George's best friend."

She nodded, and he continued. "Well, he came to my bed, looking very worried, and he brought me back to their room. As soon as I got in the door, I heard sniffling, and I followed the noise. I pulled back the hangings on the bed, and there were Uncle Fred and Uncle George. They wouldn't look at me, but they were sitting side by side in the bed, tears running down their faces, and they just looked miserable. It turned out they were homesick. They actually missed your grandmother – even though I don't think she ever found about that," he added as an aside.

Victoire let out a breath she hadn't even known she'd been holding.

"Uncle – Uncle George and Uncle Fred were homesick?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, and Bill nodded, deliberately looking into his daughter's eyes. He knew why she was asking, and he sensed her relief.

They were silent for a moment when they both noticed Fleur and Frédéric hurrying out to meet them.

"Well, it looks like we're ready to go," Bill said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Yeah," Victoire said thoughtfully. She was thinking. Maybe she _was_ going to miss her family a little, but maybe that was also ok. If her cool uncles could be homesick, then anyone could. She realized her father was watching her in the mirror again, and she smiled.

"Don't worry about me, Papa," she said, the confidence returning to her voice. "I can be brave like Uncle George and Uncle Fred. I mean look how far they came from that first night, right?"

Bill swallowed hard over the lump in his throat and tried to smile at his daughter. "They certainly did," he managed to say and was relieved when his wife and son opened their respective doors. Sometimes it was still hard.


	2. Charlie

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

A/N: This one was much more difficult to write because I had NOTHING to go on in terms of what Charlie's family might be like. The ideas just sprouted out of nowhere. I hope they work in terms of what we know of his personality. It might seem like this scenario would make more sense with George, but I kind of wanted to spare him this kind of pain. (I also got that idea from Kerichi's story, For Bitter or Worse.) Oh, and I'll be getting back to For Harry again soon for anyone reading that. I promise. I might even get back to Just Because It's Right... but I need more inspiration for that.

**Charlie's memory**** …**** aka ****… ****The other twins**

It was Christmas, and Charlie shoved the last of his Weasley jumpers into his suitcase, sighing as he looked up at Elyse.

"We're only going for three days, you know," he informed his wife, panting with the exertion of holding it closed while he fought with the zipper. She smiled.

"I am well aware of the time," she said lightly, walking over to the bureau and running a hand lightly over the stack of gifts that he'd somehow neglected to pack. He threw himself backward onto the bed, letting out an explosive breath.

"You do it," he said, pressing his hands over his eyes. "I can't look at it. Please. Please just take care of it."

Elyse tried not to laugh as she took out her wand and waved it at the suitcase, murmuring a spell her sister-in-law had taught her. Then she directed her wand at the gifts and sent them floating comfortably to their destination. As the boxes settled on top of the clothes and she brought the lid down gently on top of them, she realized her husband was glaring at her.

"Yes?" she asked calmly, guiding the zipper closed.

"Why didn't you do that before?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level as he stared at the suitcase that now looked as if it had been made to fit everything in their flat.

"You didn't ask," she said simply, shrugging.

There was silence for a moment until they both started laughing.

"Ok, are we ready to get the kids and go?" Elyse asked as she struggled to pull the suitcase upright.

Charlie bounded out of bed and grabbed the handle from her.

"Ready when you are," he said, kissing her cheek. She smiled.

"Ready for the whining?"

Charlie sighed. "Ready."

They found their children sitting in front of the television, occasionally elbowing each other. Neither of them looked up when their parents walked in. Charlie and Elyse exchanged an exasperated look, and then she clapped her hands together.

"Come on, Al, Gabe. Time to go to your grandparents."

The boys looked up, identical looks of nonchalant excitement on their faces.

"Ok," Alfred said, pushing himself off the couch, making sure to catch his brother's shoulder. Gabe jumped to his own feet, kicking his brother in the process.

Elyse sighed. "Boys," she said. "We don't have time for this now. We need to floo over to the Burrow, and if you _keep hitting each other_, we'll never get there."

The twins scowled, and Charlie felt a pang. Every now and then, he couldn't understand why _he_was the only one of his siblings to have twins. Not only were they identical to each other but to an older set of twins as well – a set that they only knew about from stories that he could only occasionally bring himself to tell them. And without knowing why, he said, "You look just like your uncles, you know."

Nothing – absolutely NOTHING – could catch their attention and stop their fights faster than this kind of comment. Elyse marveled over it whenever it happened and finally assumed it had to be a twin thing she'd never understand. As far as she knew, most kids hated being told they looked like _anybody_ other than exactly who they were, but ever since they'd been tiny babies, Al and Gabe had had this fascination with the other twins in the family even though they'd always only known Uncle George. Somehow, it seemed to Elyse, that didn't matter.

The boys stared at Charlie, and he sighed inwardly. He'd done it now. They wanted a story. He'd let himself in for it all over again, and he almost kicked himself. But now Elyse was watching him curiously too, so he motioned for the three of them to sit. He would have to do this now because telling these kinds of stories at the Burrow – even now, even after all these years – was still a sure recipe for tears – his mother's and – if he had to admit it – sometimes even his own. That was something he never wanted his kids or his wife to see if he could help it.

He swallowed hard and forced himself to smile. "Did anyone ever tell you about the time the twins first decided they were old enough to play Quidditch?"

Both Al and Gabe shook their heads vehemently, clearly ready to hear all about it. Charlie glanced at Elyse, hoping she wouldn't notice that his hands were trembling slightly, wondering why they still did. It shouldn't still be this hard to talk about the twins, not now that he had twins of his own. But it was. It was worse, even. And then she reached over and took his hand, squeezing it tightly, and he let out a deep breath.

"Your grandmother," he started, relieved that his voice sounded relatively normal, "had a rule when I was growing up. No going up on any brooms until our 10th birthdays. She knew we'd need practice before going to Hogwarts, but she always thought a year would be enough time. It was ok for me. Uncle Bill is only two years older than I am. But for the twins, Uncle Bill and I were both flying for years before they were allowed to, and even Uncle Percy was allowed to. He didn't do it very often, though."

Al and Gabe grinned at each other. _That, _at least, didn't come as much of a surprise.

Charlie continued. "So when the twins were eight, they'd decided that they'd had enough. It was high time they got up on a broom, and nothing was going to stop them – not even your grandmother. So they waited until she was out shopping in Diagon Alley. She'd gone to get things for Hogwarts for me, Uncle Bill and Uncle Percy. She'd also left us in charge. I think we must have been busy with Uncle Ron and Aunt Ginny. They were pretty small at the time. So no one noticed the twins sneaking out to our brooms."

Al giggled. "Uncle George is always doing things like that," he said knowingly, but Charlie shook his head.

"It was Uncle Fred, actually," he said evenly. "He always led Uncle George into trouble." His lips twisted in a wry smile. "That might sound familiar, Al?"

Al flushed and glanced down at his feet. "Uh huh," he muttered, but he looked up with a smile when his father tousled his hair.

"You're a lot like him," Charlie said, including Gabe in his very strained smile.

There was silence for a moment when Charlie was forced to look away from his family, and then Gabe asked tentatively, "but what happened after they snuck out?"

Blinking hard several times, Charlie plastered the smile on his face as he turned back to his own eight-year-old twins.

"They fell off," he said simply. "Banged themselves up pretty badly, too. But they were too afraid of what our Mum would say, so they tried to hide it."

It was Gabe's turn to giggle. "Grandma wouldn't miss something like that," he said gleefully, and Charlie shook his head, now smiling for real.

"You're right, Gabe. She wouldn't. You can only imagine how angry she was when she found out what they'd done. That earned them another year before they were allowed to get up on brooms."

Al and Gabe thought about this for a moment. "But – but they ended up on the Quidditch team, didn't they?" Gabe asked, and Charlie nodded.

"Two of the best Beaters Gryffindor ever saw," Charlie said. Pride warred with sadness, and he found himself smiling. "I bet if you ask your Uncle George, he'll tell you about some of the games they played?"

The twins nodded eagerly, and Charlie sighed with relief. It seemed that he had survived yet another memory in one piece. He looked down at where Elyse's hand was still covering his own and found himself smiling. He knew why.


	3. Percy

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

A/N: Sorry this update took so very long. I had the idea for it forever, but making it reality was a whole other issue. The germ seemed obvious to me, but the execution… well, I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out in terms of the names and the reactions.

**Percy's memory … aka… THE letter**

The owl pecked at the back window, and Penelope and Percy looked at one another as Rick leapt out of his chair.

"I'll get it," he said hurriedly, trying to beat his little sister to the window.

"Mo-om," Paige whined as he shoved her roughly out of the way. Penelope drew a breath to tell her son not to hit his sister, that he was far too old for such behavior, when she noticed the look of complete astonishment on his face as he stared at the envelope in his hands.

"What is it?" she asked, and he slowly turned it for her to read.

_Frederick Weasley_

_The Red Brick House_

_Ottery St.Catchpole_

_Devon, England_

Receiving mail was not ordinarily a cause for excitement, but neither Penelope nor Percy could fail to miss the familiar Hogwarts seal.

"Well," Percy said calmly, trying not to get his hopes up, "go on. Open it."

Penelope motioned for Paige to come sit on her lap and leave Rick be while he opened his letter, and she complied, albeit grumpily. She was still annoyed that her mother hadn't shouted at her brother for pushing her. She always shouted at him when he pushed her. Why should this time be any different? She couldn't understand why her parents were suddenly watching her brother so closely.

His hands shook a little as he tried not to rip the envelope, and he glanced at Paige out of the corner of his eye, hoping she wouldn't be able to tell. Luckily, she was scowling too much to notice anything out of the ordinary. Finally, he got it open, and as he unfolded the parchment, he felt like his heart stopped beating.

Penelope and Percy glanced at one another nervously as he read silently, his face blank. It seemed like an eternity until he finally looked up. There was an expectant pause before he finally broke into a grin.

"I'm a prefect!" he shouted, and then unexpectedly, he launched himself into his mother's arms. Paige was sandwiched between her mother and her brother for a moment before she yelped for air. Penelope released Rick with an apology to Paige, and they both watched as Percy grabbed Rick in a bear hug, spinning him around.

Paige giggled. "Daddy's hugging Rick," she whispered loudly to her mother, but Penelope merely nodded. She had a lump in her throat as she watched her husband and son, and she couldn't have said another word at that moment. She simply couldn't believe that her baby was old enough to be a prefect.

Finally, Percy released Rick, and they sat side by side across the table from Penelope and Paige. The grin on Rick's face spread from ear to ear, and Penelope swallowed hard, forcing herself to smile back.

"We're so proud of you," she said softly. Rick nodded. He was staring once again at his letter, so he missed the quaver in his mother's voice. His father didn't. He looked away from his perusal of his son to scrutinize his wife, and the moment he caught her eye, he understood and smiled lovingly at her.

"Hey Rick," he said in an effort to lighten the mood, "did I ever tell you the story of when I first got my prefect badge?"

Finally, Rick looked away from the letter, his curiosity peaked. He wouldn't admit it (since at 15, he was far too old for stories), but he loved hearing about when his father was growing up. He only had his little sister to fight with occasionally. He could never imagine what it must have been like for his father with so many brothers _and_ Aunt Ginny.

Percy grinned at him, and then he turned to include his daughter in the story as well.

"Well, when I was your age, Rick, I got my Hogwarts letter, and as you can imagine, your grandmother was ecstatic. Uncle Bill had also been a prefect _and_ a head boy, and she imagined the same illustrious future for me. Your grandfather was happy too. But, well… your other uncles didn't quite share in their enthusiasm."

Rick smirked. He had some idea of where this was going. "Uncle George and Uncle Ron?"

Percy shook his head slightly as his throat tightened. "Well, yes… but don't forget Uncle Fred."

_Don't forget Uncle Fred_… the words echoed back in his ears, and he knew he couldn't possibly ever express how much he meant them. He also knew that he would have to talk about Uncle Fred a whole lot more if he didn't want that to happen… but it was still hard. He let out a shaky breath and carefully avoided looking over at Penelope. He knew one look from her could reduce him to tears, and he couldn't let that happen now, not with his children there, not while they were expecting this story.

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

"Uncle Fred and Uncle George kept hiding my badge from the moment I got it until we left to go to Hogwarts that year," he continued. His voice sounded a little rough in his ears, but he knew Penelope would be the only one who would notice. He continued to avoid her gaze.

"No one could ever find anything once they hid it, least of all me… and you'd have thought I'd be good at it," he added ruefully, "considering I was usually their main target."

Rick snorted, but Paige looked confused. "Why, Daddy? Why were you their main target?"

Percy turned to smile at his daughter. "Let's just say… when I was Rick's age, I thought awfully highly of myself. I didn't realize that actually _saying_ what I thought made me a bigger target for your uncles' jokes."

He turned back to Rick. "In any case, they didn't only hide my badge. They also enchanted it to read many things other than prefect. I … I don't think you need to know what it said, though."

Rick looked like he was about to ask, but he smiled instead. He knew he could get it out of Uncle George pretty easily if he just asked him. He did say, "Did they even listen to you when you were at school, though?"

Percy shrugged uncomfortably. "Not very much, no… but Uncle Ron did. So did Uncle Harry and Aunt Hermione and Aunt Ginny."

Now Rick laughed, and so did Paige. She looked at him skeptically and said, "Daddy, there's NO way Aunt Ginny listened to what you said at Hogwarts. She hardly listens to you now."

Penelope snorted, and the sound was so unusual that it sent their kids into hysterics. Percy pretended to be indignant, and he turned to his wife with some of his old pomposity.

"Is there a problem, dear?" he asked, and she bit her lip to keep it from quivering.

"No," she managed to say as she fought to keep a straight face. But it didn't last. She burst into gales of laughter, and Percy lost control as well.

When the four of them finally calmed down, Percy said to Rick, "I can't wait for you to tell your grandparents about the badge. They'll be so proud of you."

Rick grinned and stared at it for a moment. He looked up at his father and said hesitantly, "is it weird that I kind of want to wear it now?"

Percy shook his head, smiling understandingly. "Not weird at all. I wore it the minute I got it. I bet your mother did the same with hers."

Rick turned to her, and she nodded, also smiling. "I absolutely did. Go ahead, dear. Put it on if you want to. We understand."

Without wasting another moment, Rick pinned the badge to his shirt where it shined as brightly as the smile he wore from ear to ear.

"Hey Paige," he said, clearly trying to sound casual. "Want to come into the village with me? We can get ice cream. I'll pay."

He didn't need to say another word. She leapt from her chair and was out the door before he even found his shoes. When he got to the door, he half-turned and called back to his parents, "We may stop by the Burrow… be back later."

There was a silence when they left, and then Penelope got out of her chair and walked over to where Percy was sitting and staring at the Hogwarts seal on the envelope Rick had left behind. But he wasn't just looking at the seal, she realized. He was also reading the address and their son's formal full name.

It was a few minutes before he looked up at her, and his eyes were swimming with tears behind his horn rimmed glasses.

"I miss him," he whispered, his voice wobbling. Penelope nodded, her own chin trembling, and she sat down quickly on his lap and wrapped her arms around him. She held him tightly for a moment, and then he mumbled into her shoulder, "do you know the fun we would have if he were still alive? Imagine… a Frederick Weasley as a Hogwarts prefect? Mum definitely never thought she'd see the day."

Now Penelope laughed. It was weak, but it helped Percy to calm down, and he pulled back, sniffling but smiling. "Well, we will get to tell George," he said, somewhat more cheerfully. His smile widened and he said, "It really will be almost as good as telling them both."

Penelope nodded, and she kissed her husband deeply. "It will," she said simply.

What they weren't saying was just as clear. It had to be … because it was all there was.


	4. George

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

A/N: This might be one of the longest chapters I've ever written for anything. I had no idea how it would turn out when I first started writing, but this is certainly isn't what I expected, at any rate. It's less of a memory story than the others were, but it still seemed to fit for this particular character. Review, please. Let me know…

**George's memory … AKA … ****The**** Right Name**

Katie stared at the disarray that used to be her living room and felt her blood pressure rising.

"George!" she shouted, and after a few moments, he wandered into the room – and stopped short. He stared around at the mess, and she could have sworn she saw his lips start to twitch in amusement. That did it.

"It was YOUR son who did this," she informed him, her hands going to her hips in a way that was horribly reminiscent of Molly Weasley at her angriest, and he tried to repress his shudder as she said, "So YOU deal with it."

He stared at her for a moment before realizing two things. First of all, she was in no mood to be argued with, and he'd rather her only be angry at one of the Weasley men right then. Secondly, though… she was right. This mess was definitely made by _his_ son. There were many times when Fred Weasley lived up to his name. This was definitely one of those times.

"I'll take care of it," he said as soothingly as he could manage. It was hard not to laugh, though, even though he knew it would make things 100 times worse. He fought to keep a straight face while she stared at him suspiciously for a moment, and then she turned on her heel and marched out of the room, shaking her head and muttering something that sounded distinctly profane. He chose not to ask her to clarify.

"Fred!" he shouted, once he'd had a moment to himself to compose his expression.

He had to wait a couple of minutes before he heard his son thudding down the stairs. He knew Fred was counting the days until he could apparate, but both he and Katie were relieved that they had a few more months until _that_ happened.

"Dad, you _have_ to listen to me," Fred blurted the moment he entered the room, but George shook his head impatiently.

"I don't _have_ to, actually," George said, trying hard for a glare. "What I do have to do is remind you that _you_ have to clean up this mess. This house looks like a cyclone hit it, and as you well know, this is what we call your fault. Well – ok. I'll be fair. It's your fault _and_ your friends' faults too."

Fred reddened and stared at his feet. He hated to admit it when he was wrong, but there didn't seem to be much of a way out of it this time.

"Fine," he muttered. He still wouldn't look at his father, but George inspected the top of his head thoughtfully. Then he smiled slightly.

"Fred, take a seat," he said. His son glanced up at him quickly and saw that he shouldn't argue. He slumped down on the couch, resting his cheek on his fist and refusing to look at his father even when he sat in the chair facing him.

They sat there for a moment silently before George cleared his throat.

"I understand this better than you think I do. I wasn't always your father, you know. I was once a teenager."

Fred snorted. _That _was hard to believe. Of all his friends, no one else had parents who anticipated their every move like his did. Granted, as his friends liked to point out, if his dad owned a joke shop, there was a pretty good chance he'd played his fair share of jokes in his time. But they didn't understand what it was like when he even seemed to know what Fred was _thinking_. Even now…

"I know you think we always know what you're going to do before you do it," George continued, and Fred rolled his eyes. There he went again. But his father continued talking, and what he said next made Fred really start to listen for the first time.

"But that's because we … I … well, _we_ got into trouble far more when we were your age than you do. And I don't mean by a little. Your uncle and I were in trouble ALL the time when we were at Hogwarts _and_ at the Burrow. You work alone. Your uncle Fred and I were a pretty terrifying team."

Fred stared at George almost against his will. He was actually admitting it? This was what he'd always wanted him to talk about. He'd heard the stories but never from George, and he couldn't imagine why. But now – _now_ – he was actually saying it himself! He smiled slightly as he said, "I've heard, Dad. Everyone at school still talks about the way you and Uncle Fred left when you decided to open the joke shop."

George smiled slightly too, remembering. "Yes, that was quite an exit, I must say." He looked at his son and saw the amusement in his eyes, and he laughed. "Ok, so I'm still a little proud of it," he conceded, but then he hastened to add, "but that doesn't mean it should give you any ideas. Those were extenuating circumstances. Dolores Umbridge was in charge, for Merlin's sake."

Fred rolled his eyes. "I _know_ that. But come on. If you and Uncle Fred got into so much trouble, then why can't you lighten up on me a little bit? I mean you two had fun, didn't you? Why shouldn't I have fun with my friends? It's not like anything bad ever …"

He trailed off, horror washing over him like a cold bucket of water. He couldn't believe what he'd almost said, and judging from the look on his father's face, this was another of his mind-reading moments, and he knew what Fred had been about to say too. He was about to apologize when his father shook his head.

"No, it's ok," George mumbled. He stared down at his feet, and Fred stared at his own. Now he knew. _This_ was why his father never talked about these things. Because this might happen. Fred waited, but he didn't know what he was waiting for. And then George spoke again, and Fred was forced to look up even though once he saw his father's face, he knew he would rather look anywhere else.

George was staring at him more intently than he could ever remember either of his parents ever looking at him before, and he felt himself locked in even as he wished he could look away. He was unaccustomed to emotion from either of his parents but especially his father. And he had a sinking feeling that George's eyes weren't usually this bright. But then he started to speak, and Fred felt a small burst of relief when his voice still sounded like his own. At first.

"I know you and your friends want to have fun. I know it, and I understand it too. No one had more fun as a teenager than I did, Fred, but that's because I had your uncle with me every minute of the day. And neither he nor I ever thought anything bad could happen to us either. I'm not saying that's why it did, but it didn't help that in spite of some pretty major setbacks, we never thought anything REALLY bad could happen. And then it did…"

He trailed off as his voice tightened, and he shifted in his seat, looking away from Fred for a moment. He would give anything for his eyes not to be stinging with tears right now, but it had been so long since he'd talked about this at all, and even the thought that something could _ever_ happen to this Fred was enough to sink him back into all the terror he had managed to keep at bay for a long time now. He blinked hard and it was a few minutes before he could look at his son again.

"Fred, listen. I know it seems like I'm making a big deal out of nothing, and in the grand scheme of things, you and your friends destroying the living room really isn't the end of the world. But the thing is… I already lost one Fred Weasley that I loved as a part of myself. You're a part of me too, and I need you to understand how important it is to me that you be careful. I know you and your friends are just fooling around. I know the world isn't as dangerous as it was when I was growing up. But I just need you to understand that bad things can happen sometimes even when we don't ever think they could. You need to be responsible and not just for your own sake."

Fred stared at his father for a moment before he too was forced to look away. He didn't understand why tears were welling up in his eyes, but he did know he didn't want his father to see them. This didn't make any sense. His dad had talked to him about responsibility before. He'd even talked to him about Uncle Fred. So why was this…?

"Because I don't think you ever really understood how much I love you," George mumbled hoarsely, and Fred's head snapped up even as the tears threatened to spill down his cheeks.

"How do you _do_ that?" he tried to demand, but his voice shook. George smiled at him sadly.

"I've always been able to tell what Fred Weasley is thinking," he said quietly.

The two stared at each other, and then Fred bolted from the room, and George slumped in his chair, his hands over his face. This was how Katie found him a few minutes later, and her mouth fell open slightly before she rushed to his side.

"Are you ok, George?" she asked softly, putting her arm around his shoulders. He sniffled, shrugged, and then finally lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, and Katie immediately understood.

"You talked to him about Fred, didn't you?" she asked, but it wasn't really a question. He nodded, his lip trembling, and she bent to him and kissed him.

They stayed there in silence for a few moments until he mumbled, "You might want to go check on him. He seemed – he seemed pretty upset when he left."

Katie bit back her next question – she knew why he hadn't gone after him, himself. But even as she moved toward the stairs, she took his hand and pulled him after her. She looked back when she felt his resistance.

He shook his head. "He needs you now," he insisted, but Katie smiled sadly at him.

"He needs both of us," she corrected. "You're the one who understands this best."

He couldn't argue with that and allowed himself to be pulled up the stairs, but when they reached the door to their son's room, he heard the sniffling inside, and he hesitated.

"You go in first," he said, and when he saw the skeptical look on her face, he added, "I'll be right here. I just – I need a minute."

After a momentary inspection of his face to assure herself that he was telling the truth, she nodded. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

Fred was lying face down on his bed, sniffling, his shoulders jerking slightly. Katie walked quietly to his bed and sat down slowly beside him, but she saw him freeze, and she rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. After what seemed like an agonizingly long time, he spoke.

"He – he never told me all that stuff before," Fred said, his voice thick.

Katie rubbed his back like she'd done when he was small, and her touch soothed him. He turned over, dragging his hand across his eyes.

"This is stupid, isn't it?" he asked, looking slightly ashamed. Katie shook her head firmly.

"It isn't stupid, sweetheart. This – this isn't an easy thing. For any of us. Your father and I knew when you were born that we would name you Fred, but just because it's the right thing doesn't mean it's simple. The whole situation is hard, and even though you never knew your uncle, it's still hard for you too because you know how much your dad loved him."

"It is. I wish – I wish I could have known him," Fred whispered, the lump in his throat making it suddenly difficult to talk again.

"I wish you had too." It wasn't Katie. George was standing in the doorway, and father and son found themselves staring at one another again. George moved slowly into the room to sit beside Katie on the bed, and he tried to smile at Fred but failed miserably.

"You're a lot like your uncle," George said, his voice wobbling, "and nothing could make me happier. What your mother said was true. It wasn't an easy choice to give you his name, but it was the right one. He would – he would have approved."

They were the magic words. Without either of them quite knowing how it happened, their arms were around each other, and Katie quietly moved out of the way.

It had always hurt her to know that Fred thought his father didn't understand him when she knew that the complete opposite was true. It had hurt George too, but she'd never been able to convince him that this was a conversation they needed to have. He'd always been too afraid to reopen those wounds. But now – something had happened, and even though she didn't know what it was, she couldn't help but feel relieved. As hard as it might be, _t__his_ was where they were supposed to be.


	5. Ron

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine; this story is.

A/N: I can't understand why this idea was so hard to come up with, but it definitely was. Only one chapter to go, but I am starting to come up with an idea for a new, very angsty Weasley story. Stay tuned…

**Ron's Memory ... AKA ... Fred Days **

They heard Hugo that morning before they saw him. The sounds coming from his room reminded Ron of the explosions he used to hear from the twins' room when he was growing up, and a small smile appeared on his face. Hermione stared at him in exasperation.

"He is PROBABLY destroying the house right this very instant. What are you _smiling _about?" she demanded to know, and Ron looked at her for a moment before answering.

"Those sounds," he said, wincing as they heard the sound of something hitting the ground with a distinct thud. Then he smiled again. "Doesn't it remind you of when you used to come to the Burrow in the summer? From – from George's room. It sounds like that."

Now Hermione smiled too, but the familiar pit formed in her stomach when she realized what Ron had done. Clearly, It was going to be one of those days. One of those … Fred days.

They still occurred every now and then even though the war was over 20 years ago. Whenever Ron started to remember his childhood in the Burrow, it was bound to be something of a sentimental day (well, as sentimental as it could be when it was Ron Weasley you were talking about), but when he mentioned a memory without mentioning Fred's name, it was because something had reminded him specifically of his older brother. Hermione couldn't imagine what had done it this time.

"Do you – do you want to go let Hugo know that he needs to stop whatever he's doing and get ready?" she asked gently. She would have to tread carefully until she figured out what, exactly, had set Ron off this time. It would come out in some way sooner or later, of course, but she knew from years of experience that she would have to approach it in a roundabout way.

Ron nodded and took the stairs three at a time, and Hermione once again found herself wondering if he would ever grow up. Then she smiled. She hoped not.

It took Hugo all of three minutes to be ready, and Hermione wasn't at all surprised when he and Ron were back downstairs before _she'd_ had a chance to go get Rose.

"Ready, Mom?" Hugo asked. He was trying to control his enthusiasm and seem nonchalant – to look and sound 16, in other words – but nothing could have been clearer to Hermione than the fact that he was practically jumping out of his skin with excitement.

"Sure am," she said, trying not to smile. "Let me just go fetch your sister, and we can go."

He rolled his eyes. "_She_ has to come?"

The urge to smile disappeared, and she simply said, "Yes. _She_ is your sister, and _she _has to come."

The urge to argue disappeared too. When Hermione adopted that tone, _no one_ argued.

Hermione disappeared from the room, and Ron and Hugo sat on the couch in a slightly awkward silence. For some reason, they found themselves without much to say. Suddenly, Ron realized that he still didn't know what those mysterious sounds had been.

"So what, exactly, were you doing up in your room?" he asked. "Your mother and I heard all these noises…"

Hugo flushed. "Oh… well… Granddad showed me how to drive, and he gave me this… miniature car. He enchanted it for me, and now I can practice parallel parking and three-point turns."

"Why did you think you'd need to practice those in your room? You don't think you'd be good at it?"

"Well, Mum said _you_ had problems with…" Hugo trailed off as his ears turned even redder. Ron almost took pity on him for inheriting this embarrassing tendency. Almost. When Hugo looked at him, his father was staring back, looking distinctly disgruntled.

"Do not listen to your mother," he said stiffly. "I had no problems with either parallel parking _or_ three-point turns." He shifted uncomfortably as he remembered telling Harry years ago about confunding his own driving instructor and hoped Hugo hadn't heard that, and if he had, that he didn't remember. From the smile on his son's face, Ron was pretty sure he'd gotten away with it. He relaxed. "Besides," he added, "you come from a family that LOVES cars. It's in your blood. You'll do just fine."

But Hugo looked confused. "A family that loves cars? But Granddad and Grandma never had a car. They just used the ones from the Ministry whenever they took us anywhere."

Ron smiled slightly. "Did no one ever tell you about the time your grandfather enchanted an old Ford?"

Hugo's eyes lit up. "NO!" he exclaimed. His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, trying to make it even deeper. "What happened?" he asked, though it sounded a lot more like a growl.

Ron tried not to let his smile broaden. He cleared his own throat.

"Well, it was the summer after my first year at Hogwarts. Your grandfather had bought this Ford, and he was spending the entire time he was home out in his shed, tinkering around with it. Whenever I managed to get out there, he would show me all the new enchantments he'd added to it. You might think that what he did to your miniature car was impressive, but you should have seen what he did to this full-sized one. The entire family could fit into the backseat, all seven of us. And it could fly. And turn invisible."

Ron waited, proudly, for Hugo's exclamations of awe, but that's not what he got.

"Seven…?" Hugo asked in confusion.

All of the color drained from Ron's face. How could he not know? It wasn't like he never mentioned Fred… was it?

"Yes," he said slowly. "Seven. Me, Uncle Bill, Uncle Charlie, Uncle Percy, Uncle Fred, Uncle George, and Aunt Ginny."

Hugo had never felt worse. He couldn't even look at his father.

"Oh," he finally managed to mumble. "Sorry."

There was an awkward silence, and Hugo was starting think Rose would _never _be ready when she and his mother finally walked in a few minutes later. It took Hermione all of five seconds to realize something was wrong, and it took her even less time to know that it had everything to do with this being a Fred day. She pulled Rose to sit beside her on the loveseat and said bluntly, "So what have you two been talking about?"

Neither Ron nor Hugo could look at her, but Ron muttered, "We were talking about my dad's old Ford."

And that's when Hermione started to understand. "Have you told her about the night you and the twins rescued Harry?"

For some reason, it helped. Ron looked up. Hugo looked up. They looked at each other, and Ron asked gruffly, "Do you want to hear?"

Hugo nodded, his eyes questioning, and Ron continued the story.

"So I had been writing to your Uncle Harry all summer, but I never heard back from him. My parents were starting to get worried, and your uncles and I decided to surprise them. We took the car one night, turned it to invisible" –

"_Invisible?"_ Rose squealed. Ron broke into a grin and nodded at her.

"Yes, your grandfather added a lot of features to this car. So anyway, after we turned it to invisible, we flew it to Uncle Harry's aunt and uncle's house. Well, Uncle Fred and Uncle George flew it. They wouldn't let me touch the steering wheel."

Hugo and Rose laughed, and Hermione tried to keep a straight face.

"Why wouldn't they let you touch the steering wheel?" Rose asked, trying to sound innocent.

Ron sighed and shook his head. "They just didn't trust me," he said, sounding to Hermione an awful lot like he did when he was 12. He looked about as bewildered as he had at that age, too. That's when she burst out laughing and turned to their kids.

"Uncle Fred and Uncle George… well, they were willing to try a lot of things. Letting your father in on their tricks, however, wasn't usually one of them. Together, they were indestructible. When they let him help? Well, have you ever heard the American expression, 'that's when the wheels came off the bus?'"

Hugo and Rose started laughing again. "So … did you rescue Uncle Harry?" Hugo asked when he'd finally managed to calm down.

"We did," Ron said warily, trying valiantly to regain a sense of dignity. It was hard, though, with Rose's little snorts of laughter in the background. He forged ahead, making his best effort to ignore them. "We picked him up and got him back to the Burrow safely. I guess – I guess it was mostly thanks to the twins – even though they'd never have found the house if they hadn't had me with them," he added hastily, and his children nodded obediently.

"So… what did Grandma say?" Rose asked, and now Ron's ears turned as red as Hugo's had earlier.

"That's a whole other story," he said quickly, and Hermione struggled to contain her laughter.

"Kids, go on out to the car. We'll be there in a minute."

She didn't need to tell Hugo twice. He flew out of the house, and Rose shrugged and raced after him. Hermione looked at Ron and tried to hold onto her smile.

"Did that make you feel better?" she asked quietly, and he looked at her quickly before looking down at his feet.

"I guess," he mumbled. When he didn't look back up, the smile slid off Hermione's face, and she reached out and took his hand.

"What happened when you talked to Hugo?" she asked quietly.

For a long moment, she really thought he wasn't going to answer, but he finally squeezed her hand and said, "Do I … do I talk to the kids about Fred enough, Hermione?"

She bit her lip as she tried to think of a tactful way to answer this.

"You talk about him," she said slowly. "Just … I don't _know_ if it's enough."

Finally, he looked up. His hair was hanging in his eyes, and his lips were pursed, but his chin trembled, and he choked, "I want to. And I know I should. It's just – sometimes it's still hard."

And just like she'd done on that night all those years ago when his world had changed for the irreversible worst, Hermione wrapped her arms around him tightly.

"I know it is," she said, her own breathing shaky. "But they need to know Fred, and we can do it together just like we've done everything else."

Ron sighed and nodded against her shoulder. "You're right," he whispered, and he hugged her hard. When he finally let go, his smile was crooked, but he managed to say, "You always are."

Now she smiled too. He was back in reality. He was going to be ok.


	6. Ginny

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is. This was going to be the last chapter, but I feel like I need one more chapter to bring this next generation of Weasleys together with their grandparents. So ... in other words, one more.

A/N: Ok, in the wake of this new news about how our beloved Weasleys end up, I'm afraid nothing I've written can any longer be considered cannon. (Thanks for turning my world upside down, Katy. I'd have been just fine pretending everything turned out the way we decided it should.) In any case, unless I have a drastic change of thought, I will keep plodding along in my own version of how the Weasley universe turned out with George and Katie, Percy and Penelope and Charlie – well, married at the very least. I find it hard to believe he liked dragons more than women. So there.

**Ginny's memory AKA Younger Brothers**

"We'll be leaving in one hour," Harry explained patiently for what felt like the 500th time. He glanced at Ginny helplessly, and she added, "Sweetheart, we already told you. My teammates set up the portkey for us, but it won't be active until 5:00. The match isn't until 7. Just calm down. I promise we'll be there soon."

Lily Potter huffed with impatience, and she crossed her arms over her chest in a way that was distinctly reminiscent of her Aunt Hermione. Harry tried not to smile. He knew from experience that levity right now would not be the best choice.

"Do you know if your brothers are ready?" he asked, and Lily rolled her eyes.

"Dad, they're NEVER going to be ready. James is ruffling up his hair for something like the eight _hundredth_ time, and I heard Albus complaining about how his hair never looks like James's and how the girls at the match won't look at him and then he slammed his door."

Harry and Ginny tried to control their expressions as they made a distinct effort not to look at each other.

"Lily, wait here. We'll be right back."

They went up the stairs without much hope that Lily wouldn't be right behind them, and without even looking at each other, they quickly made the decision to bang on James's door first. It was a good decision.

Their oldest child was standing in front of the mirror, critically examining the tousled mop on his head and strategically trying to get each hair into the _right_ wrong place. Albus was behind him, trying to tousle his own hair with limited success and scowling more with each succeeding second.

"Ok, you two," Harry said, clapping his hands together, hoping this wouldn't take _too _long. "I believe your sister already told you that we have to leave in …" he checked his old watch and said with greater urgency, "50 minutes. The portkey will only be active for a very short time. You _know _all of this."

James nodded absently. "I'll be ready," he said. He glanced sideways at his younger brother and snickered. "I don't know about Al, though."

It was the last straw. With a howl of rage, Al launched himself at his older brother, destroying the hours of painstaking work on his hair, and James responded in kind. In the blink of an eye, the teenagers were wrestling on the floor in much the same way they had ten years earlier when they were little boys.

With a technique born of years of practice, Ginny jumped in and pried them apart. With a hand on each of their shoulders, she guided them firmly to James's bed and sat one down on each side of her. Harry pulled a chair over to join them, and Lily, unnoticed in the mayhem, plopped herself down on the floor at her father's feet, leaning against his legs.

"Now the two of you will just _calm down_," she said. It wasn't a question, and neither of her kids could bring themselves to look at her. They both stared down at their feet, and Ginny glared at Harry until he finally realized that she wanted him to jump in.

"There is no excuse for this, you know," he said to his sons. "You're far too old to be settling fights like this. You're far too old to be fighting like this at all, for that matter. I don't understand what's gotten into the two of you."

There was a momentary silence before Al started shouting at their parents.

"It's his hair," Al shouted. "He's always messing up his stupid hair, and he knows that it means that the girls at the match will all look at him. I don't know why they even _like_ that so much!"

Now Harry didn't know whether or not to laugh or cry. "You're a lot like your grandfather was," he told James.

Both of his sons looked at him for a moment, and then James asked, "I – I am?" He suddenly sounded an awful lot younger than his usual 16-year-old bravado allowed him to sound, and Lily looked at him curiously. For the first time, he seemed to realize that she was there, and his ears turned the telltale Weasley red.

Harry tried for another smile and almost succeeded. "You are," he said, and then he looked at his younger son. Al was staring at his feet, looking more miserable by the second.

Suddenly, Ginny spoke. "Al, did I ever tell you how much you remind me of your Uncle Fred?" she asked.

Al's head snapped up, and so did Harry's. Both of them looked at her curiously.

"I _do_?" Al asked, and James echoed him.

"He _does_?"

Ginny nodded. "Did I ever tell you the story of the time the twins got into a fight with Uncle Charlie and Uncle Bill?"

All three of her kids shook their heads, and Ginny glanced at Harry. "Do we have the time?" she asked, and Harry nodded without even looking at his watch. He would make the time if he had to. Ginny had always had a hard time talking about Fred, and if she were willing to tell the story, then he would make sure she had all the time she needed.

She took a deep breath. "I must have been about 16. It was the summer when Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur got married. The day of their wedding was pretty crazy. Your grandmother was in her glory, cleaning the Burrow, and your uncles –well, they were pretty excited to meet Aunt Fleur's family."

Lily raised an eyebrow skeptically even as her brothers snorted. "It's because they're Veela, right, Mum?" she asked, and the worldly tone of her voice caused even Ginny to crack a weary smile.

"Yes, dear. It's because they're Veela. So the twins dressed in their best to impress these girls, and they were doing pretty well that night, too. Except – well, the wedding ended early. You know that story."

The kids nodded, and she skipped over the frightening moments at the end of the wedding and continued her story the next morning.

"Well, since your dad, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione were gone the next morning, we were all very worried and not in the best mood. Uncle Bill, in particular, was pretty upset because Aunt Fleur was pretty upset about the way the wedding ended. So he wasn't much in the mood to hear the twins' stories. And they were _always_ trying to lighten the mood even when no one was in the mood to listen to them."

"So what happened?" Al asked eagerly.

Ginny looked at him for a moment and then broke into a grin. "Well, Uncle Bill decided he'd had enough and wanted to give them a taste of their own medicine, so he started to make up some stories of his own about what Aunt Fleur's cousins said about them. He made some awful jokes about … well, about things I won't tell you," she said, turning a slight shade of pink, and Harry tried not to smile. He'd heard these stories in their entirety. He knew what Bill had said.

"Uncle Fred and Uncle George hardly knew what to do. They weren't used to being on that end of jokes, and before anyone realized what he was doing, your Uncle Fred – well – he just kind of attacked Uncle Bill. Uncle Charlie jumped in to help Uncle Bill, so Uncle George jumped in to help Uncle Fred… but he was doing just fine himself. That's why you remind me of your Uncle Fred, Al. While I don't advocate attacking older brothers because not only do we not believe in violence in this house but also because older brothers tend to be bigger and stronger– well, neither you nor your uncle let that hold you back. You do what you have to do."

Al grinned at his mother for a moment before turning to James. For a moment, no one said anything, and then Al mumbled, "Sorry for jumping on you."

James studied him for a moment and then he grinned too. "It's ok. I think you even made my hair look better. Just – come here. I'll help you."

Al's eyes lit up, and he went to stand before the mirror, his older brother behind him. As James attempted to help his younger brother, Harry looked at Ginny and smiled.

"Now they remind me of Fred _and_ George," he whispered, and Ginny nodded, a smile frozen on her face but her eyes shined suspiciously, and Harry leaned over to kiss her.

"It's a good thing," he whispered, and she nodded again. She knew.


	7. Arthur and Molly

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

A/N: The last chapter was really going to be the last one, but thanks to **Carcassonne**, I felt the need to include a chapter with the grandparents of this large brood. I do feel like it all has some more closure now (even though I had no idea what this chapter would include). Hope you all enjoyed it. I did like writing this story even though it was much more difficult for me than the Left Behind ones – a lot less of the books to work with, I guess. I have three more ideas in the works now, so keep your eyes open, and thanks for all the encouragement.

The Burrow looked like it always had. Even though all of her kids had moved out years ago, Molly never changed anything, and they all had to admit that there was something very comforting about this. Well, they admitted it privately to themselves. They'd never say it to each other or to their mother. They reserved the "museum" jokes for those conversations.

"Hey Mum," Charlie called out from the very far end of the table, "what did we do to deserve getting put in Siberia over here?"

Molly shot him a look that caused Al and Gabe to go directly into hysterics. "Dad, you're in trouble with Grandma!" they gasped, and Charlie's ears reddened slightly, but he smiled too.

"Just kidding," he called back weakly, and Bill turned to him, a look of wry amusement on his face.

"Will she ever not have this kind of power over us?" he muttered to his younger brother, and Charlie didn't even get a chance to answer before Elyse said, "no."

They turned to look at her, and she grinned wickedly at them. "She's your mother, and she's _Molly Weasley_. She has this kind of power over everyone, and you're her kids. You really think there's a chance you'll ever escape?"

Both Bill and Charlie sighed despairingly, and even though they were now in their late 40's, it seemed to both Fleur and Elyse that they'd suddenly become teenagers again, and none of them could contain their laughter.

At the other end of the table, Fred was commiserating with Hugo over their fathers' mutual inability to understand how important it was that they each get a car.

"I mean, I know we can apparate and all, but how much cooler would it be to have a car?"

George turned and called to Arthur, "Dad, have you been talking to them? Because your grandchildren are sounding an awful lot like you!"

Arthur looked confused, but Katie and Ron both laughed. "They do, don't they?" Ron commented, looking critically at their children. "Well, it doesn't matter. They're not getting cars, and they know it." He turned to George. "Can you imagine if we'd asked for cars when we were their age? We were lucky if we didn't get hand-me-down robes every fall."

George snorted. "Remember your first set of dress robes in your fourth year?"

Ron's ears turned scarlet as George's voice miraculously carried across the length of the table. Harry burst into peals of laughter, completely unlike his normal booming laugh, and it was contagious. By the time everyone had calmed down, Ron's entire face was beet red, but he was smiling.

"What I remember is how pathetic Harry and I were when we tried to get dates for the Ball."

Ginny and Hermione groaned, and Molly tried not to laugh – unsuccessfully. "Arthur, do you remember that Owl we got from Ginny when she told us she was going with Neville?"

Now it was her husband's turn to laugh. "You were so disappointed," he recalled.

James looked confused. "Why was she disappointed, Grandpa? I thought you loved Uncle Neville?"

"We do," Molly said quickly. "It's just – we wanted her to go with your dad. She'd liked him for so long."

It was Ginny's turn to blush as her kids turned to look at her curiously.

"You liked Dad before he liked you?" James asked slowly, and Ginny nodded.

"She liked your dad before she even met him, I think," George added, and when Ginny turned to glare at him, he snorted.

"Come on, Gin. Don't you remember the first time we all met Harry on the platform to Hogwarts? I think you almost banged into a pillar when you found out who he was."

"And then there was that first summer he came to stay with us," Percy chimed in, and the kids all turned curiously in his direction. "Ginny stayed holed up in her bedroom as much as she could. Every time Harry so much as looked in her direction, she'd drop whatever she was holding."

Finally, Ginny seemed to find her voice. "Well, you know my brothers all were so HELPFUL," she said to her kids before turning to glare at George. "You'd think I could have counted on them to help me out, but every time I turned around, you or Fred was standing there with a gigantic heart or a teddy bear or something. I don't even know where you two GOT those things."

Ginny and George stared at each other, and the silence that followed her words stretched almost uncomfortably. No one else at the table seemed to be able to look at each other, and then Molly cleared her throat. Her voice was tight, but she managed to say lightly,

"Ginny, did it ever occur to you that the twins were practicing their future joke shop on all of you? For all of those years, none of you knew you were the testers for jokes that would shape the world."

The tension in the room seemed to dissolve, and now Ginny and George both smiled. Katie, however, could hear his unsteady breathing, and she put her hand on his back, trying to calm him unobtrusively.

"What kinds of jokes did you do to Dad?"

They all turned as one to see Rose's eager face, and now George laughed for real, and Katie relaxed.

"You mean you never told your kids about the time we enchanted your teddy bear?" he asked Ron.

Hermione and Harry snorted. They knew this story, and Ron's discomfort, even after all these years, made everyone laugh, including his parents. Rose and Hugo, however, both looked curiously at their father.

"What'd they do?" Hugo asked, and Ron shrugged, trying to suppress the still-involuntary shudder.

"It was nothing," he tried to insist. "They just – they changed it."

"How?" Rose asked.

When it was clear that Ron wasn't going to answer satisfactorily – either because he couldn't or wouldn't say the word – they couldn't be sure, Molly said, "They turned it into a spider, sweetheart."

Rose's eyes widened, and now Hugo snorted too. He turned to George and breathed, "wicked!," shaking his head, and Molly said, "they really were. Your poor father couldn't sleep for weeks."

"How old were you?" Rose asked, and before Ron could even open his mouth, George smoothly said, "Fifteen."

Now everyone burst out laughing, even Ron, who did manage to shout, "I was FOUR!" but to no avail.

"Your uncles were quite a team," Arthur said, and now the entire group quieted down. His grandchildren looked at him curiously, and he smiled at each of them, the smile that had always made his kids feel like they were the most important people in the world and was now doing the same for _their _kids. "They just always knew how to make everyone laugh, even when they probably shouldn't have been trying. Your grandmother almost fainted when they created U-No-Poo back when Harry was fighting Voldemort. But it sold brilliantly, right, George?"

George nodded, a faint smile on his face, and Arthur said, "They just always saw the good things in life, and they made everyone feel better when they were around them. You all do that, though. You may not have ever known your Uncle Fred, really, but he's a part of all of you. Frédéric, Al, Rick, Fred, you may be the ones who share his name, but you all remind me of him in some way. I know he would have been amazed to know he'd have this many nieces and nephews, but I can't imagine he wouldn't be thrilled."

George stared steadily at his plate, blinking hard. It still hurt though not in the same way it had so many years ago. Percy fought to take steady breaths, knowing that Rick would hear it if he weren't. Charlie clenched his fists and bit his lip as hard as he could, wishing that this would somehow get easier. It was ok to tell these stories at home. It somehow was always this hard when he went back to the Burrow. But that was also because of Bill. The oldest of the Weasley children stared into his lap, his eyes burning. He knew Charlie could feel his pain, and he knew it made it harder for him, but sometimes, he still just couldn't help it. Ron, meanwhile, was holding onto Hermione as he always had whenever things got too hard. He wouldn't look at any of his siblings, but Hermione could tell from the pressure on her hand that it was because he couldn't bear to let them see his face. Ginny leaned against Harry's shoulder, her own eyes downcast. It was a long time before anyone was able to look up.

Unsurprisingly, it was Molly who brought everyone back to the task at hand. She, of course, had tears in her eyes, but she clapped her hands and said, "Your grandfather is right. Let's celebrate tonight in the way Fred would have wanted us to. But NO FIREWORKS!" she said sternly.

They all looked up with a start, and then George burst out laughing. It was the permission everyone needed. The talking, the laughing, and the eating resumed. Arthur gazed around at everyone and then realized that Molly was watching him. He looked at her questioningly, and she nodded.

"He _would_ be thrilled," she whispered. Arthur leaned over and kissed his wife, the woman who had given him seven wonderful children and now ten amazing grandchildren. They would always miss Fred. But he looked around the table and knew that they were still lucky.


End file.
